


Five Dollars

by Synchron



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Mild Humiliation, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27189661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron
Summary: In celebration of Vergil’s DLC. The cost of it on PC and other consoles intrigued me a little.Makes you wonder what else he’d do for just five bucks.
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	Five Dollars

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back when the playable Vergil DLC was (finally) announced, but only just realised I never actually posted it here? So here we are. 🤣 There's nothing to say about this other than Vergil gets pegged.

It was a throwaway comment at best, something he’d said without much thought. But Vergil knew, the moment you cast him that look from across the dinner table, with the glint in your eye and the peek of your tongue between your teeth, that he’d just sold away some irrevocable part of him. **  
**

Ironic, when it can be said you already own him, body and soul, for free.

“Look at you. Cheap slut like you would do anything for a little bit of cash.” Your fingers linger at his hips, tracing the pleasantly tight v-cut of his abs until you reach a patch of short hair - perfectly trimmed. He shivers, makes a noise from deep within his throat that could almost have been a snarl if he weren’t on his hands and knees. Your hand slips lower until your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, teasing at the velvety skin there. “A measly five bucks is all it takes to get you hard?” You lean down, soft breasts pressing into the flexing muscles of his back. “How embarrassing.”

Vergil shifts underneath you, shoots you a look from out the corner of his eye that would chill even a wild tempest, but there isn’t much he can do when he’s impaled on a silicon cock, buried so deep he can feel coarse straps against his skin. “I’m not talking to you right now.”

“Ooh, moody~” you laugh lightly into his shoulder, so amused that it borders on cruel, and nudge forward a little more, until your thighs touch the back of his and the mattress tilts underneath your combined weight. Vergil jolts with a shuddered groan, feeling a flash of heat and a tingle of pleasure when your hips roll, and your strap on keeps nudging and probing and grazing that one spot inside of him that makes him, _him_ \- the Alpha and the Omega, the _Darkslayer_ \- moan and whine like a bitch in heat.

“You’re not talking to me because it feels _so good_ , right?”

There are far more elegant ways to talk about this - about how he’s nursing an eight inch cock in his ass and _actually_ liking it - that would preserve his dignity, but gentle as you’re being with him, taking it slow, and making sure it’s more pleasurable than uncomfortable in the way you gently eased inside him until he’d taken all of you, the words that pour out of your mouth are designed to make his face burn from the humiliation.

Which is why he turns away from you and presses his lips together in a show of stubborn defiance, masking each thrust, each flinch with a firmly clenched jaw.

He hears your voice in his ear again, deep and breathy, reminding him of your vulgar phone calls to him in the dead of night about how you _wish_ he were with you, and all the _things_ you’d let him do to you. Oh, dirty little mix like you knows that tone gets him going, and you show it by giving his cock a loving pump, milking a bead of precum from him and letting it drip onto crumpled bed sheets. “Don’t do that, baby, let me hear how good I’m making you feel~”

_Again_ with the provocation, _again_ with the undercutting tone, _again_ with the potent throb of his cock, because _fuck_ , this is precisely the sort of thing he says to you when his head is between your legs, or when he has you suspended in the air, anchored in place by a wall in front of you and his cock behind. Vergil grips the sheets, not because his vision is beginning to grow hazy and indistinct from his own pleasure, but because he…

He's–

He wrenches his eyes shut just to keep them from rolling when he cums without warning, pushing back against you so your thick cock never leaves his prostate, never stops sparking flames that lick and burn at his skin. A sound erupts from the base of his throat, a hoarse noise that might have been a moaned “yes” if he were more honest with himself.

In your hand, his cock twitches, painting and ruining your sheets in thick ribbons of cum as he continues to writhe beneath you. Every muscle clenches, vessels bulging in his neck, his arms, everywhere, as he hides his pleasure from you. But with each pass of your hand, up and down his slick cock, more of that defensive, sheltered part of himself crumbles away until he’s puffing your name.

You give him a minute of blessed silence when he finishes with one final ooze of cum, and one parting, almost desperate press against you, to let him catch his breath. Sort out whatever is happening inside his head as his shoulders go slack, and the fine pattern his tensed muscles make in his back begin to fade from sight. Then you slowly pull out of him with a pop that makes him groan.

You press a soft kiss into the middle of his back, where those angry lines and dips and divots used to be, and murmur in a voice that makes him melt just a little more, and in a different way. “Thank you for indulging me.”

Beneath you, he hums quietly, and you’re not certain if that’s because of the fading high, or simply his way of letting you know he heard you. Your arms wind around his middle, and you hug him like that for another moment.

Until you think to push your luck, and you smile into his skin.

“I’ll leave the money on the dresser.”

Vergil sighs, sounding more tired than he feels. “No.”

“I’ll leave extra since you put on such a good show for me.”

“That’s enough.”


End file.
